


The Fixer

by AvoidingAverage



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Badass Jaskier, Barista Geralt, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Buff Jaskier | Dandelion, Eventual Smut, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, First Kiss, Found Family, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier Drinks Respect Women Juice, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Love Confessions, M/M, Mafia AU, Mob Boss Jaskier, Parental Vesemir (The Witcher), Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Sassy Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sort Of, Top Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 22:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30028797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvoidingAverage/pseuds/AvoidingAverage
Summary: In the world of the wealthiest members of society, there is only one man who you call when there is a problem that needs to disappear.  Whether it's killing off your competition or ensuring you have the blackmail you need to keep your enemies at bay, Jaskier--better known as Dandelion--has made a living getting his hands dirty.So, when the offer comes to track down the missing child of a billionaire CEO, Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier is more than happy to go undercover and get the information they need to ensure Geralt doesn't become a problem.But what happens when he starts to have feelings for the kind, smartass barista and his strange family?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 72





	The Fixer

**Author's Note:**

> I started a mafia show this weekend which led to this plot bunny taking over my life. Prepare yourself for a feral, morally grey Jaskier and his band of merry badasses.

A single black car drives up the winding road surrounded by vineyards of curling grape vines . 

Inside, a man and a woman don’t speak as they watch the passing foliage with speaking, eyes blank. The man in the back seat toys with the signet ring on his finger idly, his expression thoughtful. He watches a small biplane fly over head, dusting the crops with a spray of clear liquid. Within the confines of the car, he can’t smell the metallic edge of the chemicals that rain overhead in a fine mist.

The car slows as it approaches a large white gate and the driver rolls the window down to address the guard. She notes the gun that marrs the clean lines of his suit jacket, but doesn’t comment.

“State your business,” the man orders.

“We have an appointment.”

The guard looks through the tinted window to the silent man in the backseat, eyes widening a little when he recognizes the cold blue eyes and dark hair. He stands straighter and nods to the two men in the guard tower. The gates open with a smooth motion and the car goes through.

They drove through and pulled up in front of a sprawling country house. The pale brown stucco walls gleamed against the professionally maintained lawns. As soon as the car is parked, the man in the backseat opens the door and gets out in a smooth motion.

The driver follows him out of the vehicle and watches her passenger carefully. Her blonde hair shifts slightly in the soft breeze and she shifts with barely restrained energy. “You have ten minutes.”

“I’ll only need five.”

He scans the area with a wary glance as his fingers neatly button his suit jacket. The charcoal grey fabric is neatly cut to accentuate broad shoulders and narrow wait before tapering into long, muscular. The man himself is just as immaculately maintained with pale skin and a strong jaw that tightens briefly before he walks towards the outer veranda as though led by some inner voice. The driver doesn’t bother to follow, only offers a slim leather binder which is tucked under his arm.

The man ignores the way the guard’s eyes follow him with no small amount of tension. He keeps his eyes on a man eating alone on a table overlooking the vineyards. 

Vincent Cassano sits like a walking cliche for a mafia boss. Gold chains glint in the sunlight from the unbuttoned collar of his brightly patterned shirt. His hair is dark and slicked back with enough gel to keep it completely tamed. Two men in matching black suits and sunglasses stand a short distance away with their eyes on the approaching stranger.

“What do you want?” Cassano grunts, not bothering with niceties.

He settles into the chair that was never offered and gestures to the leather binder he still carries. “I have the final offer from my employer.”

The other man laughs, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. “How can a dead man make me an offer?” he asks, “Have your skills extended to raising the dead now, Dandelion?”

Jaskier’s smile is stiff and doesn’t reach his eyes though he gave no other sign of his reaction to the statement. “The paperwork was sent over before Mr. Vincenzo met his end. I have been asked by his family to take care of this issue before the funeral this afternoon.”

“Such loyalty.”

He grunts and puts the folder onto the table. “Review the doc--”

“No need. I have no intention of signing.” The man gestures to the vineyards surrounding his homes with a flourish. They shimmer in the early morning sunlight with the new layer of the liquid the crop duster continues to drop over the fields. “Without Vincenzo, the family has none of the clout or resources to keep me from controlling this town. Not even you can stop their downfall.”

Jaskier sighs and leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “This is your last opportunity to walk away from this without losing everything, Mr. Cassano.”

Cassano’s face goes red and sits up with false bravado. Jaskier notes idly that his hands are trembling even with his guards surrounding the table. “Are you threatening me?” he blusters.

“Merely ensuring that you understand the danger of your situation.” He watches Cassano without acknowledging the way the guards were beginning to move closer. Leaning forward, he lowers his voice until the other man is forced to lean in to hear him. “This is the only warning you will receive.”

“You don’t scare me.”

Jaskier watches him for a moment longer, eyeing the droplet of sweat running down one cheek. He keeps his face politely neutral as he nods and gets to his feet. 

“As I said, I have been asked to convey the final offer of Mr. Vincenzo on behalf of his family. If you have no interest in signing this document, then there is no need for me to waste my time here. I’ll see myself out.”

He hears the scrape of a chair before Cassono gets to his feet, face mottled with a familiar terrified anger. It was a common enough sight in his line of work so he didn’t bother to respond.

“You think you can survive going against me?”

“Do not threaten me,” Jaskier says in an even voice that doesn’t match the murder in his eyes, “That is my first and last advice for you.”

Cassano sneers, but doesn’t seem to recognize the danger he’s in. “Get off of my property.”

Overhead, the plane comes closer, disrupting the quiet of the remote vineyard. 

Jaskier smiles and nods, turning on his heel to return to his vehicle. Without looking back, he waves the leather binder in his hand in a lazy salute. 

He feels eyes following him as he trails back to his car and the driver leaned against it. The driver straightens as he walks closer, looking Jaskier over like he’s checking for blood. Knowing their line of work, it wouldn’t be the first time he returned in less than savory ways.

“No luck?”

“Depends on what you consider lucky.”

She hums and glances back at the guards a few yards away. “Do you think we’ll be able to get out of here without a fight?”

He doesn’t bother to look back at the house. “We’ll be fine, Essi.”

Essi huffs, but doesn’t argue further. She walks over to the car and slips into the driver’s seat. The engine starts with a purr as he settles into the backseat, carelessly tossing the leather briefcase onto the seat beside him and reaching up to loosen his tie.

Jaskier watches the plane fly overhead, imagining the angry shouts when more of the strong smelling spray drops over the manor’s yard and the men still standing in the backyard. The car rolls through the gate and starts down the road.

Essi slows to a stop on the road in the midst of the neat rows of grapevines. He pushes the button on the door and the window rolls down to reveal the bright daylight and sharp smell of chemicals. Jaskier reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a silver lighter engraved with an intricate ‘P’ surrounded by filigree.

“It is a shame though,” he says as he looks back at the manor house where the plane makes a final pass. “It’s a beautiful home.”

Fire sparks to life at his fingertips, fluttering gently in the wind before he tosses it into the grass beside the road.

There’s a moment of silence before the grass ignites with a muffled  _ whoosh _ . The fire spread quickly, spreading greedily along the ground and towards the vines already shriveling with the heat. The accelerant spread by the crop duster plane ensures that the fire continues to move through the vineyard with devastating effectiveness. It jumps from row to row and moves closer to the house they’d just left.

“Did you secure the gates?” he asks Essi.

She nods, dark eyes on the house in her rearview mirror. “They won’t be able to open them without tearing them down.”

Jaskier smiles faintly as their vehicle moves forward once more. “Good.”

  
___________________________________

A few hours later, Jaskier is settled comfortably in his seat in the first class cabin of his private jet. Papers and a few photographs are scattered around the table in front of him in a dizzying array of information that only he can seem to decode. He’s shed his suit jacket and tie, but still maintained the icy countenance that was familiar to anyone who came into contact with him.

He let himself scan over a few emails from perspective clients, sorting through the ones Yennefer had deemed interesting enough for him to consider. There was the usual thinly-veiled assassination attempts, a few calls for corporate espionage, and a single request for him to intercede on a family dispute.

Jaskier pulls up the information on the family dispute, ignoring the frankly ridiculous price offered for him to oversee the reading of the last will and testament of the Rivia family. He scans the information briefly before turning to his computer and pulling up information about their company.

The Rivia company is one of a dozen or so pharmaceutical companies controlling the medical market in the US and Europe. There’s rumors that they’re looking to expand into Asia by buying out their competitors, Cintra. It’s easy to draw conclusions for why they would be concerned with ensuring the will is implemented quickly before they begin the process of expansion. What isn’t so obvious is why they would ask for his assistance.

He looks back at the email with a little more curiosity. There had to be more to this for them to want to pay this much for Jaskier to oversee the final will and testament of their former patriarch. He twists the ring on his finger and considers the screen in front of him, curiosity piqued.

Decision made, he leans forward and types out a time and place before pressing send.

* * *

New York’s familiar skyline is a stunning backdrop for the restaurant settled on the rooftop of one of the historic brownstones near Central Park. The servers move easily through the tables with profession ease and, more importantly, discretion. It’s one of the many reasons why he enjoys meeting potential clients here. 

That, and the flat he owns across the street where Yennefer can watch the meeting through the lens of her rifle scope.

Jaskier is a big believer in stacking the deck in his favor.

“Lawyer is en route now,” Yennefer’s voice murmurs in his ear. “On your left.”

“Right on time.”

He looks over the rim of his whiskey and watches a well-dressed man with dark hair liberally streaked with silver. The man’s suit speaks of the same money that Jaskier wears enough to recognize as a weapon of its own. Eric Coleman is one of the highest paid lawyer in his firm for good reason. He’s the type of man who has made his name by bending the law to ensure his clients got whatever they wanted. Jaskier could appreciate that kind of focus.

“Dandelion?” Coleman asks curiously.

Jaskier nods and gestures with a hand toward the empty seat beside him. “Drink?” he offers, ready to signal the waiter.

“No, thank you. I don’t drink when I’m on business.”

“And what business do you have for me?”

Coleman pulls out a few papers from his bag. “I hope you don’t mind signing a non-disclosure while we discuss my client’s information.”

Jaskier’s smile is sharp. “I prefer not to leave paper trails. I’m sure you understand.”

“My client is concerned that this information will reach the public.”

“I’m not in the business of playing games, Mr. Coleman,” Jaskier says, “so I’ll be blunt. My reputation revolves around my ability to get a job done. Once I give my word, it serves as our contract that I will complete the task you’ve given me and you will pay me what has been agreed upon.”

Coleman frowns. “How can you be so sure that no one will try to double cross you?”

Jaskier leans forward and smirks, his fingers shift enough so that the lawyer can see the blade moving in a quick pattern before he lets it disappear within his suit jacket once more. He watches the other man’s skin go pale with a feral glint in his eyes. “Simple, Mr. Coleman,” he purrs, “I make sure everyone knows what will happen if they did.”

The lawyer swallows hard and his fingers tremble a little when he rifles through his papers once again. He clears his throat and tries to rally his flagging courage. “Ah, yes. Well. We need you to find someone.”

Jaskier arches an eyebrow in silent surprise.

“Cintra’s owner and CEO, Gregory Cintris, passed away two days ago due to complications from a stroke,” he reports shortly. “On his death bed, he revealed that he had an affair with a woman some time ago which resulted in a child that he included in his will.”

Abruptly, the choice to bring Jaskier in held a sinister edge.

“His current wife, Calanthe, wants to confirm that this child is truly Gregory’s before the will is enacted. If the child is proven to be someone else’s, she can move forward with retaining her control of the company and divide the remaining shares between herself and her own grand daughter.”

“What about her own child?”

“Pavetta died some time ago in a car crash. Calanthe has been raising her daughter ever since and grooming her to take over the company once she’s older.”

Jaskier accepts the folder Coleman offers and scans the documentation left behind by an old employment file. 

Visenna Rivia had been hired as a secretary to the CEO and several other high ranking members of the company almost thirty years ago. Judging from the picture of the smiling redhead included in the documentation, it was no surprise that she’d attracted the attention of a lecherous Gregory Cintris.

“Why do you think her claim is legitimate?” he asks with a thoughtful frown.

“Mr. Cintris continued to send money to her for nearly five years after she’d left the company. It’s possible that these were intended to keep her quiet.”

Jaskier hums a little, thoughtful. “So you want me to find her and the kid? And then what?”

“We need to be sure that her claims are valid before we move forward with the will. There will be a bonus in it for you if you can get us the information before the end of the week.”

He toys with the edge of the folder and taps it against the table before getting to his feet. Jaskier extends his hand to the lawyer to shake.

“Consider it done.”

* * *

Jaskier settles into the butter-soft leather cushions of his couch and gestures toward Priscilla. “Time to play our favorite game: ‘What’s his type?’” he says with a grin.

The women groan, but flop down on the couch around him. They’re all dressed in comfortable clothing and are still bleary eyed from the jetlag left behind by their quick trip back from Italy. He’s grateful that New York is one of the cities where they have an apartment big enough for all of them to use. With their line of work, it’s better not to be seen walking in and out of a hotel with guns.

As soon as he’d gotten done with Coleman, Priscilla had gotten to work hunting down whatever traces of Visenna were left online. It looked like the woman had jumped from job to job for a few years before returning to New York to settle down permanently. Jaskier was grateful that they wouldn’t need to travel far to find her and her--now grown--child. From there, it was simply a matter of following the paper trail of her first child.

Immediately, the screen in front of them is loaded with images of a tall, muscular looking man. He dresses simply--his one acknowledgement to vanity is the pale silver of his hair, just long enough to be swept up into a messy bun at the nape of his neck. There are a few scars that speak of a rough lifestyle and Jaskier spots a few tattoos peeking out from the edges of his shirt sleeves. His eyes are an odd shade of hazel that looks like honey in the sunlight.

Jaskier looks over the strong features with appreciation, watching a series of photos cycle across the screen. Each was taken from across the street from the vehicle Priscilla had rented for just that purpose. A few were professional shots of Geralt standing surrounded by a trio of men with the same bulky builds as him. They were most likely the results of the internet searches and careful scrolling through whatever social media sites their target used.

“He’s not much for social media,” Priscilla complains as she toys with her laptop. “Most of what I could find is from the shop he works for and some of the other employees.”

“What can you tell us?”

“Not a lot. He works for this shop-” A picture of a small, well maintained coffee shop settled in between a bakery and a bookstore bearing the name ‘Wolves’ Lair’ appears on the screen. “-with a few other men. All of them appear to be former foster children of the owner--Vesemir Morhen.”

Jaskier frowns. “He’s a foster? I thought he was taken by his mother.”

Priscilla hums, tapping away at the keys. “Looks like she died when he was eight. Death certificate says cancer.”

“Looks like he’s overdue for a nice windfall.”

Yennefer looks over the screen with a critical eye. “We still need to confirm he’s actually the old man’s son.”

“One of us needs to get DNA,” Jaskier agrees, “and we’ll need to speak with the rest of the employees. This Vesemir might know something about where Geralt came from.”

Essi tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and sighs. “So we’re pulling another honeypot?”

“My money’s on Yenn being his type,” Jaskier says with a smirk.

“I’m everyone’s type,” Yennefer quips.

“It’s what makes you so deadly.”

Priscilla’s eyes flick over her screen as she searches for some kind of evidence of past relationships or registry to a dating website. She makes a soft sound of victory a moment before a dating profile pops up on the screen. “Looks like our Geralt is looking for love.”

A few pictures of Geralt smirking up at the camera or posing with his foster brothers appear next along with a brief description of what the man was looking for in a partner. Jaskier feels his eyes widen in surprise a moment before Yennefer punches his arm, cackling madly and high fiving Essi. 

“I guess that makes you the winner!”

  
_ Fuck _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you think it's worth continuing!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
